


Language

by aresentfulcaretaker



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 04:46:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17676728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aresentfulcaretaker/pseuds/aresentfulcaretaker
Summary: It began, as Hannibal understands it, shortly after Will woke up.





	Language

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the After the Fall zine.   
> I am very grateful to have been a part of this project.

It began, as Hannibal understands it, shortly after Will woke up. Chiyoh was no longer able to do her work quickly and quietly. For better or worse, they had each other to keep company.

But with the hole in his cheek and without the high from all that had happened on the cliff, Will found he could not ignore his pain enough to speak. They tried a pen and paper for communication. Practical, despite how slow and tedious. Those days crawled by at the pace of his scrawl.

Chiyoh bought the book as a joke or taunt – Will couldn’t decide which. Either way, the idea of sign language was introduced. Four hundred yellowed pages of it with grainy, black and white photographs hanging half-detached from the binding.

The second hand book’s bad shape was not so much the problem as was Will’s restlessness. Never one to oversleep in a sickbed, he was unable to focus on retaining anything on the page.

So the two of them made it up. One would gesture to something in a particular way – sometimes with purpose, sometimes without – and that became it’s assigned motion. A language built not on logic and rules but shared experience and memory. Every move an inside joke or shared moment passed.

All of which Hannibal missed while fighting an infection. By then, Will's cheek was healed and they spoke aloud to one another, to him. But every now and then, they relapse into their silent conversation, and he is reminded.

Like now, he watches Will makes an assortment of one-handed motions without expression. Chiyoh nods and turns to him, asking what he wants her to pick up.

“Chocolate, please,” Hannibal says, “The best you can manage.”

She leaves, taking the beat up truck that goes with their beat up safe house. Will resumes washing dishes. Hannibal gets up from the kitchen table to help rinse.

“Why chocolate?” Will asks, once they find a rhythm.

“Since waking, it’s been on my mind. So little lately has been sweet.”

“We’ll be going soon. And you’ll be able to buy all the sweets you want.”

Hannibal smiles at the thought, pictures himself on some city street, out with lanterns for a pastry. But the thought is short lived, lost to another. “What did you ask her for?”

“Booze, mostly.” Will hands over the final dish. Then, he makes a complex shape in the air. One from before. “That’s whiskey… and bourbon… and this is wine.”

Hannibal mimics the demonstration. Will steps away to grab the dishtowel. When he returns, Hannibal is still practicing.

He tosses the towel over Hannibal’s arm and leans back against the counter. “Chiyoh’s not coming with us, you know.”

“Yes, I know. We’ll likely never see her again.”

“If she can help it.” Will drifts off, closes his eyes. He’s eager to leave this place. “We have a way of speaking without words, you and I. Don’t we?”

“We do.”

“It’s intuitive. And violent.”

“It is as we are. Grows as we do.”

“Becomes,” Will says, smiling small without emotion. “Have we become less violent?”

“I don’t want to harm you. Do you want to harm me?”

“No. Not right now, at least.”

“Then, for now, I’d say we have.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading


End file.
